Vincent and the Pond
by Natalie Nallareet
Summary: After the Doctor and Amy returning to current aura to see that their friendship hadn't spared Vincent's life, Amy asks if they can go back to try and stop him from taking his own life.


**A/C** I've been meaning to write this fic forever and I do believe it's been sitting in my bunny hole for the last year or so. Anyway here it is, slightly Amy/Vincent and if I ever wrote a sequal which I think is kind of unlikely, that's the direction I would take it.

**Trigger warning for suicidal thoughts/attempt**

**Rated K+ **for the above reason

* * *

There was still a melancholy air that clung to Amy Pond as she entered the TARDIS, not that it was unexpected. She may have touched Vincent Van Gogh's life, given him such a beaming few days of happiness to such an extent that she had been mentioned in one of his brilliant paintings, but he had still died; still taken his own life in the depression that haunted his moments. Perhaps what came next should have been something the Doctor should have expected to hear, but he showed a small amount of surprise after her words slipped out.

"Doctor," Amy murmured, leaning tensely into the bars that lined the TARDIS console. "Can we go back there, visit Vincent?" She paused for a moment, measuring her words out carefully, thoughtfully, so different from their usual tumble. "Can we go back to when he...when he dies? Can I try and save him, Doctor?" She met his eyes carefully, attempting to keep her voice leveled, which showed just how much she cared, how much this meant to her.

The Doctor looked her in the eye, taking a large breath that ended in a sigh as he contemplated this idea. "You know it might not work. I hardly was able to get him to go and face the creature earlier, and that could hardly have been near as bad as he felt when he actually ended his life."

"I want to try, please Doctor," Amy responded, sighing almost as deeply.

"Saving a man whose meant to die at a certain point in time is a very dangerous thing," the Doctor continued, still speculating the possibility. "Even a perfectly ordinary man is extremely dangerous experiment with time, and this, this is Vincent Van Gogh; one of the most influential painters in history. Saving him could be far more trouble than we can manage."

"I thought about that," Amy said, immediately following his words. "But you see, we don't have to leave him here to create his own timeline, we could bring him with us. Then he wouldn't be adding to the world in the way of an ordinary man."

"That," the Doctor paused, contemplating her words for a moment more, before breaking into a wide smile. "That might just work. If you're sure about this?" He ran to the console, his hands paused at the controls.

"Of course," Amy breathed in relief, a nervous smile on her own features. She watched as the Doctor swirled and twisted the switches on the TARDIS, driving her through the time vortex, until they eventually landed in front of the house that they recognized from only a few hours ago in their time, several years according to when they had landed. They stepped out into the evening's dim sunlight. "Correct date?"

"Yeah. Would you like me to come in with you?" The Doctor inquired nervously, as she began to walk forward towards his house.

"No, I think it might be better if only I went," Amy shook her head. "But thank you. I'll be back soon, hopefully." With those words, she promptly ran up the stairs to his bedroom, knocking on the door. There wasn't a response. She tried the door, but it was locked shut. "Vincent! Vincent are you home? It's me, Amy Pond! Remember me?" She stood on the step a moment longer, craning her neck as she attempted to gaze into the house, but the curtains had been drawn.

"Amy Pond?" The voice was faint but still there, barely audible from the other side of the door. "Is that you?"

"Yes, Vincent!" Amy breathed in relief, banging on the door once again. "Hello! I'm back."

"I don't think you should see me like this," Vincent breathed, his voice fading away slightly, and she could only assume that he was stepping away from the door.

"Vincent, I don't care, I want to see you again," Amy shouted, to make sure that he could hear her. "Vincent? Please let me in..."

The sound of steps could be heard and a latch came away before Vincent cracked his door open, looking out at Amy with wild, tearful eyes that were puffed into slits. Tears had streaked his face, but he wasn't crying now, just staring intently out, fear haunting his gaze.

"Vincent," Amy repeated, now not knowing quite what to say now that her had gotten him to open the door. "I'm so glad to see you again! What's wrong?

"I..." He responded, taking a large gulp of air. He opened the door more completely, allowing her to look in to see his house a mess. His sheets were everywhere, as was the splattering of yellow paint. What Amy's eyes drew to most was the gun in his hands, a loaded weapon ready for use, and it took less time than a second for her to connect the dots.

"Please, Vincent, don't do this," Amy whispered, shaking her head, her hand reaching out towards the armed hand. "You mean so much to me; so much to this world. With every word and every stroke of the brush you fill it with such light, glistening into the world and radiating kindness. You are the sun, shining through with every spark of life. Have you forgotten our time together? Our days of happiness and laughter? Did you forget the museum of the future, with everyone singing your name?"

"I...I thought it was just a dream," Vincent croaked, staring into her eyes with such intensity, tears beginning to come forth again. "I let myself believe you weren't real."

Amy gasped at him for a second, before diving forward, throwing her arms around him in a hug. He was so surprised that he even dropped the gun. "I'm real, I promise you that. All of that was real! We could show you more if you'd like, you could come travel the stars with us."

"I-I'd like that," he sighed, his breath shaking as he brought his arms up to cling to her.

_Vincent Van Gogh, the Dutch post-impressionist painter, disappeared with not a single trace on the morning of 29th July 1890. His house was found deserted, a single firearm laying on the ground. Experts can not decide on what happened to his painter. Afterwards the only one painter has ever captured his style as perfectly was the ghost painter whose one mentioned title was 'Pond' as a man whose cropped up through history._


End file.
